Break Mountain's Academy For Princesses
by KLegnard
Summary: Ryan was woken by the whirring of the wind outside his window. The world was dark, making him feel almost as if his eyes were still closed. Though barely awake, he could feel the fall chill prodding at him, trying to take away the little warmth his blanket offered, and he was tempted to curl up tighter and ignore the impending dawn, to sleep forever.


A/N: Yes, I know, starting another story while there are still ones that need to be finished? Insane! But alas...

Ryan was woken by the whirring of the wind outside his window. The world was dark, making him feel almost as if his eyes were still closed. Though barely awake, he could feel the fall chill prodding at him, trying to take away the little warmth his blanket offered, and he was tempted to curl up tighter and ignore the impending dawn, to sleep forever.

Then he remembered the traders. Sleepily he rubbed at his eyes, kicking off his blanket, and instantly regretting it. The stone walls and dirt floors only amplified the frosty air. Ryan shuddered, but reluctantly he sat up. At this time of year, it was important to hurry and trade all they could spare for food to eat and blankets to use during the frozen winter months. Ryan longed to help in the quarry, though, to drag carts of stone to the town square to make his father proud, instead of fighting over prices with foreign men.

He pulled his wool leggings on and tugged his shirt over his head, but he had not yet laced his first boot when a rustling of blankets outside his door told him that someone else had woken up.

Upon peering into the other room, he saw it was his father, who had rolled off of his matress and moved toward the fire. The flickering orange light brightened as he stoked it, projecting his large shadow on the grey wall.

"Is it morning yet?" Frank, Ryan's brother, propped his head up on one arm and squinted at the fire from where he was seated at their wooden table.

"Unfortunately," said their father, who then proceeded to pulling on his own shoes.

He looked to where Ryan stood,with one foot in his boot, hands on the laces. "No," was all he said.

"Father," Ryan went to him, untied laces trailing behind him on the dirt floor. He kept his voice casual, as if an idea had just occured to him, though it was one he had toyed with for months. "I thought that with all the acciedents and bad weather we've had, you could use my help at the quarry, at least until the traders arrive?"

His father did not say no again, but from the way he pulled on his boots, concentrated and facing away from Ryan, he could tell he thought it.

From outside rang one of the songs the quarry-workers sang as they walked to work. _You remind me of a former love, that I once knew_. The sound grew louder, making Ryan's heart couldn't he join them? Sing their songs, help them work?It was unfair. Pushing jealousy out of his mind, Ryan grabbed his father's coat and handed it to him as he headed out the door. "Thank you, boy. If the traders come today, make me proud." Ryan's throat burned. He would make him proud.

Throughout the morning, Frank helped Ryan do chores- sweeping the hearth, banking coals, adding water to the salt pork soaking for dinner. Menial tasks a child was capable of. As Frank hummed, Ryan chattered about nothing, never mentioning their father's refusal to let him work.

"I've decided to trade with Pete again," Ryan said, "and I'm going to wrestle something extra out of him. Wouldn't that be a feat?" Frank smiled, still humming.

"Maybe extra salt or fish," he continued. "Or tobacco," Frank said. "Even better." Due to the requests of his father, Ryan had taken charge of trading for the past four years. This year he was determined to get the traders to give up more than they had intended.

At noon, when Frank left to help in the quarry, Ryan pretended like the fact that his brother could go and work while he had to stay didn't bother him, but it did. When Ryan was ten years old, the other children his age had all begun to work in the quarry- carrying water, fetchng tools, and other simple things. When he asked his father why he couldn't join them, he pulled him close and spoke sternly, "You are never to set foot in that quarry, boy." He had not asked again. Ryan had been small from birth, and now, at age sixteen, he was still slimmer than boys years younger. He supposed that was why he was kept out of the quarry. He was useless, unlike the stocky, muscular teens that could haul large loads of stone back and forth. It stung, but Ryan was good at pretending he didn't care.

A horn blast pulled him from his thoughts, echoing so suddenly against the mountain. Their village did not have a horn, so it must have been someone from the valley below. Most likely, it would be more traders, but sometimes they got the occasional traveler. Either way, Ryan ran to the town square to get a good view of whoever was coming. Other villagers had piled out from their houses, and he could see Frank standing to the side with his fellow quarry workers. Ryan weaved his way through the crowd, and upon reaching Mikey, he asked, "Who is it?"

"I don't know," said Mikey, Frank's friend, "But I'm not sure I care." Mikey was slender, though not as small as Ryan, and he definitely shared the same awkward stance with his brother, Gerard.

Gerard was eying the wagon suspiciously. "It's a surprise," Gerard said, rolling his eyes. He had shoulder length black hair and an expression of constant boredom, but anyone who knew him knew he was always looking deeply at things, finding every detail, always interested.

One of the traders looked their way with a smirk. "It's the king, clearly. Or at least, it's a messenger from the king."

"The king?" Ryan gawked.

"Really? You believe him?" Gerard asked, and the trader snickered. Another trumpet blared, and a man clothed in bright colors stood on the driver's bench.

In a high, strained voice, he yelled," Lords and Ladies of..." he stopped and laughed. "...People of Mount Break, His majesty the king has sent me here to deliver this news. This past summer, the priests of the creator god took council on the prince's birthday. They read the stars and divined the home of his future bride. All the signs indicate Mount Break." The man paused, waiting for a response. After none came, he sighed, and his voice went higher. "Are you so remote that you do not know the customs of your own people?" A few traders chuckled.

"This has long been a tradition," he started, "After days of fasting, the priests perform a right of passage to find what city or town is the home of the future princess. Then the prince meets all of the noble daughters of that place and chooses his bride. You may be certain the pronouncement of Mount Break shocked many of us. As the tradition, the king commanded an academy to be created for the purpose of preparing the potential young people. On the morrow, all those eligible are ordered to attend. One year from now the prince will arrive, and select a bride. So let you prepare."

As he rode away, Ryan heard Gerard whisper, "That was a surprise."


End file.
